Sex Type Thing
by rlylaughable
Summary: Hotch attempts to keep the team from devolving into absolute ADD while trying to figure out what's up with Reid. Eventual SLASH. Don't like, don't read.
1. Chapter 1

"We have to do something." Hotch said, quietly. He wasn't sneaking, but he still felt like he had something to hide.

"Like what?" Rossi absentmindedly replied.

"Do you even care?"

"Nope, not really,"

"You don't think there's a problem?"

"No."

"Why the hell not? It's an obsession."

"So?"

"An unhealthy obsession,"

"No such thing,"

"Oh, come on!"

Rossi sighed.

"Look, if you can get the rest of the team to agree that this is an issue, I'll consider it."

"Fine,"

"Now, if you'll excuse me, it's 3:00. Reba's on."

Hotch rolled his eyes and left the office.

--

"Hey, guys," Hotch said, after checking to see if he was there, "Can I talk to you about something?"

Everyone gave various grunts of agreement and gathered around him.

"Have any of you noticed anything strange? With Reid?"

There was a moment of silent reflection.

"Not really." JJ finally said.

"Seriously? I'm the only one who thinks he's been acting weird?"

"What, you think he's back on drugs?" Prentiss demanded, as she always did when she spoke.

"No, nothing like that…"

"Then what?"

"He's been making comments, and I'm not sure what it means…"

"Is this about him wanting to have sex everything in sight?" Morgan asked.

Hotch stopped suddenly.

"So I'm not the only one who's observed this?"

"Uh, no, dumbass,"

"Then why haven't we done anything?"

"Because it's hilarious?"

"You don't find it disturbing?"

"Well, yeah, but in a hilarious way."

"You find disturbing things funny?"

"Yes,"

"That's…disturbing,"

Everyone in the room giggled. Hotch gave a long, exasperated sigh.

--

"Colorado. What the hell kind of serial killer lives in Colorado?" Morgan said.

"Ted Bundy killed four people in Colorado." Reid chimed.

"He didn't live there, he was just passing through. Besides, that was in Vail. Vail doesn't count as a part of Colorado, it's too chic."

"True. Ted Bundy was hot. I'd hit that." Reid said.

Hotch sighed, as subtly as he could.

"So far, he's killed three people," JJ said, "Only thing in common is they're all alternative high school students."

"Great," Morgan whined, "Not only are we in fucking Colorado, but we have to deal with teenagers. Goddamn."

"Think of them as fresh meat." Reid said.

"…oddly, that helps."

"I try."

"What's the MO?" Hotch asked, in an attempt to get everyone back on track.

"Well," JJ said, "It's kind of weird."

_Yes, because we are so unfamiliar with weird_. Hotch thought.

"Staples,"

Silence.

"We need to buy office supplies?" Prentiss asked, with her usual tone of hurried seriousness.

"No, the MO is staples. He stapled into their arteries, specifically the carotid."

"Huh. I never would have thought of that." said Morgan.

"It's quite genius, actually," Rossi said, flipping through the TV guide. Hotch wondered why they had a TV guide at the FBI headquarters.

"Is that Wallace Langham on the cover?" Reid asked.

"I think so."

"He's hot. I'd hit that."

"Anyway!" Hotch said, as loudly as he could without yelling, "When are we leaving?"

"We should probably go now, actually." JJ said, checking her watch.

"Okay. Come on, everyone, into the van."

"I call shotgun!" Reid said.

"You got shotgun last time!" Morgan responded.

"Nu-uh!"

"Ya-huh!"

"You'll have to beat me to it!" Reid yelled as he took off.

"No fair! Rossi, tell him it's _my _turn!"

"Stop fighting or we're not getting McDonald's on the way!"

Morgan grumbled and crossed his arms over his chest.

Hotch sighed.


	2. Chapter 2

Hotch sometimes got in these moods where he was determined to write a book and, because of this, started writing it in his head. This was one of those times.

The team was at a softball field, in the dark recesses, where the crime scene was. Or whatever the equivalent of dark recesses was in a field in fucking Fort Collins.

_The singing screechs of 11 and 12 year old girls pierced the still summer air, much like howler monkeys in a primate house._

"Everyone, this is Detective Lynn," JJ said, motioning toward a man whom Hotch at first mistook for Danny DeVito, causing a few moments of horror and confusion.

"This is the team." JJ continued, motioning again.

"Thank y'all for coming out here," Danny said, "I know you probably didn't want to go to Colorado…"

Hotch elbowed Morgan in the ribs before he could say anything.

"…but thanks for coming anyway."

Hotch faintly heard Reid giggle, "Hehe, coming."

"What've you got so far?" Rossi asked.

"Nothing, really; just a body and an MO."

"We've worked with less."

"Good," Danny said, "We should probably go find the coroner."

"What do you mean, find?" Hotch asked, "You don't know where he is?"

"Well, sometimes he gets high and just kind of wanders off. He never gets too far, we can probably set up some barriers around the area. No biggie."

"And this is acceptable to you?"

"What do you expect? He's from Boulder." Danny said, with a shudder.

Hotch sighed.

--

Eventually, they found the coroner and informed him that he _was _the coroner and brought him back to lab.

"The dead guy's hot. I'd hit that." Reid commented.

"Wait," The coroner said, looking at Reid, "Has he been here this whole time?"

"Uh, yeah." said Morgan.

"No way,"

"Yeah,"

"Whoa," the coroner said with a chuckle.

"Anyway!" Hotch said, "What's the story on the dead guy?"

"Other than the fact that he's damn sexy and I'd hit the hell out of that shit?" Reid asked.

Hotch sighed.

"Yes."

"Uh, well," the coroner began, "He died 'cause of a staple."

_The coroner was highly observant._

"And?"

"I dunno. There's not much else to say."

"No fingerprints?"

The coroner was staring intently at the wall. Prentiss waved a hand in his face, snapping him back to reality with a twitch.

"Wha'?" the coroner grunted.

"Were there any fingerprints?"

"No,"

"So we've got nothing?"

"Pretty much,"

Hotch sighed.

"Thank you for the help. Or, lack thereof."

The coroner chuckled.

"'Kay,"

Hotch sighed again.

--

Hotch and Reid were driving in the menacing black SUV with tinted windows down a pothole ridden road in a strange neighborhood, with one side of the street, factories, the other, residential homes.

They walked through the glass doors, coming to a halt before the front desk. A woman still living the 80s was engrossed in her writing.

"Excuse me?"

Her head snapped up, startling both Hotch and Reid.

"Yes?" she spat.

"We're, uh, here to see," Hotch checked his paper, "Sabrina."

The secretary nodded and picked up the phone.

"Sabrina? There are some…" The secretary paused for a moment, slowly looking Hotch and Reid up and down, "People."

The other line quacked something.

"Okay, I'll send them in." The secretary said, thrusting her arm forward very quickly in a point. Hotch was surprised she didn't pull something.

"That way,"

Hotch nodded, mumbling a thank you as he left for the door.

"Hotch. Hotch. Hotch. _Hotch_." Reid said, pawing at Hotch's shoulder.

"_What_?"

"See that guy over there?" He pointed to a tall, lanky man, standing by the wall, swinging a yardstick in a circle.

"What about him?"

"I'd hit that."

Hotch shook his head.

They reached the door the secretary had pointed them to. Hotch lightly knocked and pushed it open a little, enough to get his head in.

"Sabrina?"

A woman walked out of the closet in the office. She was carrying two tumbleweeds. Hotch decided to not ask.

"Are you the guys from the FBI?"

"Yeah," Reid said.

"Okay. Good. I'll be with you in a moment, I just have to put these in my car."

Hotch nodded.

Reid was peering out the door, at the yardstick guy.

"Reid, you had better be sitting at this table by the time she gets back."

"Fine, fine," Reid took a seat with a huff.

After a few more minutes, Sabrina returned.

"So," she said, sitting down, "Where shall we start?"

"As you know, one of your students was recently murdered. Can you tell us about him?"

"Zachary? He was a strange kid; addicted to OxyContin; wanted to have sex with everyone and informed them of it."

"Was he gay?" Reid earnestly asked.

"Not technically out, but yes, he was."

Reid nodded, trying to stifle a grin. Hotch shook his head.

"Can we talk to some of your students who knew him? His friends?"

"Of course. He was well-liked, you could ask anyone and they could tell you about him."

"Good. Is class in session right now?"

"Yes. Feel free to interrupt, no one works anyway."

"Okay. Thanks."

Sabrina nodded and opened the door, allowing Hotch and Reid to exit.

"Alright, where should we go first?" Hotch asked, and immediately regretted it.

"Let's go find Hot Yardstick Guy."

Hotch sighed.

"Fine,"

"What do you want?" Hot Yardstick Guy demanded, once they found him, leaning back in his chair like it was a throne

"We're from the FBI." Reid chirped.

"Great. I still don't know what you want."

"One of your students was murdered."

"Acute observation,"

"The observation is a triangle?" One of the students piped up. Hot Yardstick Guy whapped him over the head with his yardstick.

"Stop hitting me!"

"Only when you stop being a dumbass,"

"Um, I'm sorry, what was your name again?" Reid asked, whipping his little notebook out of nowhere.

"Justin."

"Last name?"

"White,"

Reid nodded and scribbled the information down.

"Does anyone in here know Zachary?" Hotch asked the room.

No one looked up.

"Zachary Albert?"

A tenuous hand was raised.

"Yes, you?"

"I knew him."

Justin whapped the kid over the head with his yardstick.

"What the hell was that for?"

"Because you're a dumbass."

"Come with us." Hotch said, motioning at the kid. He stood up, rubbing the back of his head, and followed.

"So," Reid asked, "How would you describe Zachary?"

"In one word? Manwhore."

_Dear God, it's Reid._


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews, everyone! They make the nicotine withdrawals and the excruciating boredom much more bearable. Keep it up! You don't even have to say anything of consequence, I don't give a fuck!_

--

"What'd you find out from the school?" Rossi asked, perusing a Star magazine.

"Well, our victim was a borderline nymphomaniac, homosexual, and addicted to opiates."

"Sounds like the other two. So at least we have a type."

"Yeah."

"Where's Reid?"

"Having Garcia look up the number of one of the teachers."

"Why?"

"He wants to hit it."

Rossi gave a casual nod.

Reid walked into the room, whistling.

"What are you so happy about?"

"I got a date with Hot Yardstick Guy."

Hotch sighed. There was no point in informing Reid of how grossly inappropriate this was.

"How cute!" Morgan squealed, "When?"

"Tomorrow night."

"Where?"

"Some diner downtown,"

Hotch paused.

"Please tell me the name of the diner isn't Amy's." He quietly begged, rubbing his temples.

"I think that's it, actually."

Hotch sighed.

"What?"

"That's where Zachary used to work."

Reid grinned.

"Hey, we have to go down there anyway. Now I can check it out."

"It's perfect!" Morgan chirped, with a rapid repetitive hand-clap.

Hotch sighed again.

--

"He was a weirdo," the young waitress drawled, snapping her gum, "Hit on customers constantly."

"How did that work out?"

"It really went either way. They'd leave in a huff, or they'd tip him real nice."

Hotch nodded and wrote this down. He suddenly noticed that Reid wasn't standing next to him, nor was he psycho-analystically babbling, nor was he regaling random people with statistics. This was very concerning.

"Thanks for your help." Hotch said as he left.

"Whatever." The waitress mumbled.

He wandered through the diner for a couple minutes before finding Reid, talking to one of the customers.

"Would you recommend that meatloaf?" Reid asked.

"I guess." The woman replied.

"Would you say it's sensual? Is it getting you hot?"

"Reid!" Hotch yelled, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him away.

"What did I do?"

Hotch almost said, "You know exactly what!" but then he remembered that this was Reid.

"Generally, it's not good to ask random strangers if they find certain foods sexually exciting."

"Why not?"

"I don't know, Reid. I _just don't know_."

--

"Are we done yet?" Reid asked, "I have to meet Justin."

"The case comes first, Reid."

"Actually, I think Justin's gonna come first." Reid said, followed by a pelvic thrust and a high-five with Morgan. Hotch sighed.

"Alright, what do all these victims have in common?" Rossi asked the room.

"They're all male, white, adolescent, gay, nymphomaniacs, and addicted to drugs." Prentiss yawned.

"Yes. And because serial killers tend to hunt within their own social groups, we're looking for someone who possesses at least a few of these characteristics. Keep an eye out."

The team gave various grunts of agreement.

"Okay, you can go. See you tomorrow."

Reid leapt to his feet and raced out the door, barely snatching his coat and satchel. This bothered Hotch for some reason. Reid would rather be with some dick (literally) than the team; the team that has done nothing but help him? Hotch sighed. He saw this going bad in too many ways than the mind could conceive.

_You know what I'm gonna do? _Hotch decided, _I'm gonna Myspace search the hell out of this Justin White._


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Sorry about the delay. School is kicking my ass. I will love you forever if you review. All the cool kids are doing it. You'll be super popular._

--

"How come Rossi gets shotgun?" Morgan whined, "I called it!"

"If you and Reid can't stop fighting over who gets the front, I'm gonna take it so there's nothing to argue over." Rossi said.

"Hotch never let Gideon sit in the front." Morgan grumbled.

"Don't you remember? Gideon always set the radio to NPR. He had to be stopped."

There was a collective shudder.

"Those were bad times." Prentiss said, shaking her head.

Hotch now returned to his thoughts. He couldn't stop thinking about Justin's Myspace; mostly because of the picture of Jesus with a machine gun in his hands, standing before the Confederate flag. That was just a little weird. The "Slavery Got Shit Done" marquee was also rather concerning.

_I mean, really, marquees are so 2003. Get with the times, Hot Yardstick Guy._

The van finally arrived at its destination: Taco Bell. In Colorado, whenever the Rockies baseball team got 7 or more runs, all the Taco Bells in the state gave out four tacos for a dollar. The team had an elaborate plan to get as many tacos as possible. Hotch was to drop it off everyone at a nearby curb, and they would go in as separate customers each, while Hotch went through the drive-thru. If all went according to plan, they would have 24 tacos.

"Fuck yeah!" Morgan yelled, "We're getting some fucking tacos! Fuck yeah!"

All went well, and the team was now sitting in the van, eating the fruits of their labor.

"Okay," Morgan said, mouth full, "Who would you rather have sex with: Queen Latifah, or Halle Berry, but she's been dead for six hours."

"How did she die?" Reid asked as he took a bite.

"A mysterious Jim Henson-style flu,"

There was a moment of ponderous silence.

"Queen Latifah," Prentiss said, "Because she's a Covergirl spokesperson and I could get free mascara."

The team nodded in agreement.

"I'll go with Halle," Rossi said, "So I can say I did."

"Did have sex with Halle Berry, or did have sex with a dead body?" Morgan asked.

"Both."

Everyone chuckled.

"What about you, Hotch?"

Hotch took a bite of a taco so he had a reason to pause. He wasn't sure how to answer such a question. They usually ignored him in these situations. That was kind of how he liked it.

"Well," he finally said, "I guess I'll take Queen Latifah. Because having sex with a corpse could affect my security clearance."

The team laughed. Hotch settled back in his seat, sipping his drink, glad he got through that one without everything getting all awkward.

They sat in the car for about an hour before realizing that they actually had things that needed to get, like, done. Hotch started the car, and as he did this, he saw Reid sleeping against the window. It was a lot of work to not squeal.

_He looks like a little puppy!_

Hotch forced himself to pay attention to the road, but still really wanted to flail. He promised himself he would as soon as he got back to the hotel.

--

"Hello, everyone!" Danny chirped as he walked into the station. The team responded with various grunts as they leaned in their chairs and Morgan had his head on the table and Reid was on the floor under said table. You never get used to waking up at 5 AM, unless you're a nature-y, oat-eating, decent-at-skiing whore who _loves_ to see the sun rise, as Danny obviously was.

"Is your profile complete yet?"

It was silent as everyone waited for someone else to respond. Hotch sighed.

"We need to review some information, it'll probably be ready by the end of the day." He mumbled as he tried to keep his eyes open.

"Great!" Danny said, grinning from ear to ear, "Can I get you guys some coffee? It's horrible, but better than nothing, right?"

Everyone grunted again.

"All right," Danny said as he skipped to the break room.

"Can I break his leg or something?" Morgan asked, "So he'll stop being so damn lively?"

"Not now. Get him once we're off the case."

"Good plan,"

Hotch nodded.

--

"Remember," Reid said, to conclude their presentation of the profile, "Even if you really want to hit that, you must remain nonpartisan, at least until he or she is cleared."

The Denver cops all glanced around at each other, looking confused. Hotch sighed.

"Okay!" Danny said, to patch over the silence, "Be on the lookout, boys!"

The sole girl cop cleared her throat loudly. Danny rolled his eyes.

"Stacey, you are a cop, get used to not being referred to as a girl, okay?"

Stacey grumbled and crossed her arms over her chest. The group of police now disbanded, each headed to their various modes of transportation or desks.

"Hotch. Hotch. Hotch. _Hotch._" Reid said, pawing at the aforementioned's shoulder.

"_What_?"

"You should totally hit that." Reid said, subtly pointing at one of the cops, who was 6'5", but otherwise looked about 17, skin as smooth as a baby's ass.

"With Morgan?" Morgan jumped in.

"Bitch, please." Reid said.

Hotch sighed.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: At last! An update! One with plot advancement! Whoo! Enjoy. Reviews kick ass._

-----------------

Sometimes, the BAU made Hotch want to die, just a little. He really tried not to listen. He always regretted it. But he did now. He lost control.

"You'd run faster than a French border patrolman with a coupon for free cigarettes and track shoes!"

_Goddamnit._ This was why Hotch avoided 7-11's. Morgan took a long sip of his enormous Slurpee.

Reid was looking nervously at the box of doughnuts they had purchased.

"These doughnuts are going to kill us." He quietly stated.

Morgan sighed.

"No, they won't."

"I'm pretty sure these have some sores. They have _herpes_!"

"Doughnuts cannot get herpes, Reid."

"How do you know? Can you _prove _that these doughnuts don't have herpes? We got these at 7-11! _7-11_! People have probably had sex with these doughnuts!"

"Reid, calm down."

"Cats, Morgan! Cats can get herpes! Why not doughnuts?"

"Cats and doughnuts have nothing in common."

Hotch turned up the radio. They were on the highway, it was way too easy right now to pull into oncoming traffic.

Shortly after, Hotch looked in the rearview mirror, and was pretty much horrified to see Morgan trying to force-feed Reid one of the herpes doughnuts.

"Come on, Reid! Let's find out if they have herpes!"

"No! Damnit, Morgan, just because _you_ have accepted the inevitability of contracting an STD doesn't mean _I _have to!"

"Don't you want to hit this?"

"Kind of, but it has _herpes_!"

Hotch looked to Rossi in the passenger seat to reconcile the situation, but he seemed to be in a sugar coma, slumped over in the seat with his hand still clutching the Slurpee. Hotch suddenly regretted leaving Prentiss at the 7-11. Okay, not really.

"Morgan, get that doughnut away from Reid's mouth!" Hotch finally intervened.

"That's what _she _said!"

"Sick burn, Morgan!"

"I know right!"

Hotch knew they had some Benadryl in this car, somewhere. He found it after a little looking around.

"Man, my allergies are acting up. Anyone else want some Benadryl?"

Morgan and Reid accepted the offer, and 15 minutes later, they were out like a light. Ah, Benadryl: The 9 dollar babysitter. Hotch congratulated himself for building up immunity to antihistamines.

Just when Hotch thought he was out of the woods and about to enjoy a nice, quiet car ride, Rossi began unconsciously mumbling.

"No! Please, no! House is supposed to be asexual! Who the fuck is this whore? Dear god, why? Where is David Shore? Why isn't he doing anything? He-he's just _standing there_! Honestly, I'd take Cameron over this bitch. But we all know House/Wilson is where it's at. Man, Hugh Laurie. I'd plow that 'till next July."

Hotch sighed.

------------------

This case was now officially boring as hell. The UnSub hadn't killed anyone in three weeks. The team couldn't go home, however, until it was fully closed. Damn bureaucratic technicality. But Hotch had come upon an exotic new fact from this experience: There is nothing to do in Colorado. _Nothing_. To illustrate the lack of activities in the state, the team had recently set up a craft area. This was why Hotch had a rhinestone unicorn on the back of his blazer. Morgan and his fucking sense of humor.

"Guys! Guys!"

Everyone looked up to see Danny excitedly waddling down the hall, waving a manila folder in the air.

"What is it, Danny?"

"It's trouble, times three."

"Three?!" Reid incredulously exclaimed.

There was a moment of silence.

"Uh, yeah," Danny said, less enthusiastically than earlier, "Three more victims."

"And they were all found in the same area?" Hotch asked.

"Within a mile of each other,"

"He changed the MO." Morgan said, keeping his eyes on the page.

"Yeah. Instead of stapling into their arteries, these were all strangled."

"Strangling indicates a preexisting relationship. It's a more personal way of killing; less calculating."

"Cool story, Reid."

"What could have changed?" Prentiss said.

"Something in his personal life. Divorce, job loss, death of a close relative," Hotch recited.

"They're all wearing the same outfit." Morgan observed.

Everyone's heads dropped in unison to the pictures before them. Indeed, all the victims were wearing cardigan sweaters and beige dress shirts and thin ties. Hotch slowly looked over the pictures. These were some seriously geeky clothes. Almost like…

"Reid," Hotch definitively said.

There was a very pregnant silence.

"If no one else is gonna say it," Morgan finally said, "I will. Reid?"

Reid looked up, a concerned look on his face.

"SUCKS TO BE YOU!" Morgan chirped, "I know it's not the best time for tom foolery, but I find it worth the trouble."

Hotch sighed.


End file.
